


where all the boys at with emotional stability

by raven_aorla



Category: Celebrity RPF, Saturday Night Live, Weekend Update (SNL)
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Character Interpretation, Angst, Angst and Humor, Bipolar Disorder, Canon Compliant, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Functionality to Wellness, Gen, Good Friends Being Good, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mania, Mental Health Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Written By Someone With Bipolar Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2019-08-07 10:06:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16406375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_aorla/pseuds/raven_aorla
Summary: In which Stefon is not a club kid on a truckload of drugs like most people think - he's a club kid on a fistful of psych meds.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Stefon's version of the disorder has to be far more severe than mine to account for his canon appearance and behavior with no drugs involved. However, a lot of the things he goes through are an exaggeration of my experiences. I of course do not speak for all people who have such an incredibly variable brain-thing.
> 
> The title is taken from the first line of "GUY.EXE" by Superfruit.
> 
> Thank you again to butterscotch(finedae) for creative assistance.

When Stefon was in high school, he locked himself in the bathroom, lay down in the dry bathtub, and washed down a lot of what he found in the medicine cabinet with as much of his stepfather’s “secret” whiskey he could handle before he started chucking it back up. 

It was the disgusting choice of liquor that probably kept him from swallowing enough to kill him quickly when mixed with the pills. If he’d gotten his hands on something actually tasty, like Long Island ice teas or a few bottles of hard lemonade or cider, David might have been too late. David Zolesky was the darling of the senior class, yet rained down hellfire on everyone who picked on Stefon. David was the star player on the football team, and yet somehow also in A/V club. David was cool, but collected an unseemly amount of Batman memorabilia. David was also an interfering busybody. 

Stefon was dimly aware of the door crashing, of David swatting at his face and shouting. “S’ry...din’t mean to mess…” Stefon murmured through the fog.

“Stay right here, bro, it’s gonna be okay, I’m gonna call 911.”

“S’ry.” He closed his eyes. David hit him harder when he got back. David never hit Stefon except for teasing shoulder punches, so this had to be serious. Stefon opened his heavy eyelids. “Mm?”

“There’s an ambulance coming. Just stay with me.” David’s face was all red. Like sunburn. “Shit, Stefon, why? Is it, like, because you’re gay and scared of coming out? We already know.”

“Because there’s no point,” Stefon said, and smiled a little because wow, he’d finally said it.

***

When Stefon was nearly nineteen, he was formally diagnosed with Bipolar I. This was inspired by his suicide attempt a few years previously, stretches of depression since then, plus a series of regrettable behaviors and actions worthy of Twelve Days of Christmas treatment:

12 stranger blowjobs (though he might be able to recognize a few of them from a lineup of dicks)

11 party evictions

10 girly catfights

9 manly fistfights

8 unfinished novels

7 failed get-rich schemes

$600 lost to gambling (before Ms. Stephanie Stefon Zolesky, aka his mom, cut up his debit card to keep him from losing everything else he’d saved from summer jobs)

50+ APOLOGIES

4 nights awake (as in, that being the record for consecutive sleepless nights, at which point he was hallucinating more often than not and eventually passed out on the bus)

3 academic suspensions

2 streaking charges

and 1 illegitimate child.

Thank god that Dean Cain at UTI accepted Stefon’s psychiatrist’s testimonial that a lot of his acting out wasn’t completely his fault and that he was being treated now. Otherwise he probably would have never gone to college.

Stefon didn’t take his medication as much for him as for his son. Even though he didn’t have custody, and even though the babymama moved away not long after, he needed to be alive for when his son was old enough to want to meet him. And he needed to be the sort of person a son might want to meet, if barely.

(It’s that thing where you own every single David Bowie album but you have a panic attack if you think about seeing him live, let alone up close.) 

***

After graduation, Stefon was one in a sea of kids trying to figure out what the hell to do with themselves, and like many of them he got a job in a coffee shop while working on it. He had loans and child support. He needed health insurance SO MUCH. He had the rent on his teeny tiny garbage can of an apartment he didn’t have to split with a roommate because it was a well-known crime scene with stained floorboards and had almost no heating. It was worth it to have a space where he didn’t have to pretend to be okay.

With properly medicated depression, Stefon could almost always drag himself to work and go through the motions. Unfortunately, one day the manager saw Stefon taking meds during his break and drew all the wrong conclusions. Stefon had been carrying it in a waterproof keychain container and didn’t have the bottle from the pharmacy to show him. He was on thin ice as it was because sometimes his hands shook from side effects or anxiety and he’d broken a bit of crockery that morning.

Ten minutes later, Stefon was sitting on the curb sobbing. It was NYC, so nobody cared. 

Except a skinny, feminine-hipped young guy in leather pants and a leopard-print button-up under a suit jacket sat down next to him. He had an odd booming voice while not actually speaking loudly. “Pardon me, but I was just leaving the bathroom at Ahab Coffee and I heard your altercation with your manager. You should sue for discrimination and wrongful dismissal.”

Stefon snorted and wiped his gross nose with his sleeve. “Yeah, like I can afford that and that’s gonna work.”

“I’m serious. These things are serious. This isn’t some frivolous slip-and-fall garbage.” He handed Stefon his pocket square, also leopard print, and a business card. “Name’s Shiloh, but call me Shy.”

“You’re lawyer?”

“And a conceptual piss artist, but that isn’t very lucrative.” Shy clasped his hands together. “Look, Stefon - that’s your name, right? - if you’d be willing to take a chance, I won’t ask for any money up front. We’ll negotiate how you and I will split what we bleed from that manager, the franchise owner, and the franchise as a whole.”

“Why?”

Shy paused for a moment, then said in a voice that sounded more like a normal person: “I failed the bar exam the first time I took it. A perfectly healthy asshole helped himself to all my Adderall.”

***

Stefon’s share of the money Shy won them was was enough to provide Stefon with a cushion while searching for his new job by day and going out at night. Shy was about Stefon’s age, one of those people lucky enough to have his anxiety and ADHD mixed with very high intelligence, and once he no longer felt a need to be professional he happily accompanied Stefon to his favorite clubs. They also started fucking sometimes, but there wasn’t a romantic vibe. Shy had a huge crush on this one Japanese restaurant waitress and talked about her endlessly. 

It was nice going with friends, whether Shy, Joel, Becca (though Stefon sometimes wished he hadn’t started certain conversations with her) or someone more colorful he’d met at the clubs themselves, like Pierre the Muslim Elvis Impersonator, Yolo Ono, or Melvin in a Dress. Stefon loved inviting complete strangers to clubs, too. 

This was a lifestyle Stefon still enjoyed when he was at emotional baseline, during those stretches where his emotions had to do with _stuff that happened_ rather than being assigned to him when he woke up. So he knew it was real. He sometimes drank a little alcohol, but meds made him a lightweight, possibly dangerously. He didn’t try anything people tried to sell him or share except a cigarette once in awhile. He spent enough time under the influence of chemicals he didn’t get to choose. The upside was that being “sober”, by one definition of the word, made excursions relatively cheap for him. He brought a bottle of water with him, not trusting the “water” anywhere else.

While manic, everything that had been fun was more fun, everything Stefon was nervous about nerve-free, for days and weeks on end. When he really wanted to go wild and was already riding the wave of a manic episode (more rational and law-abiding than they’d been, and shorter at 2-3 weeks or so), he skipped a dose and got ready to outdo every tweaker in the place. He didn’t have a choice in when this shit was gonna happen. He might as well enjoy it. 

Dr. Li, the therapist the psychiatrist made him see before he could get prescription refills, didn’t approve when he let slip that he sometimes skipped a dose because he didn’t want to come back to Earth yet. She said it was an easy trap to fall into and was like how drunk people don’t think they’re drunk. She said that this could lead to deciding he didn’t need his meds at all, which could mess up everything: relative financial security, social life, the general will to live, and would lead to that thing where you say or do something an apology won’t fix that seemed like a great idea at the time. Stefon nodded and smiled because she meant well. It’s not like he did it a lot. He had it under control, right?

Eventually, word got around that Stefon was great at introducing newbies to his favorite spots and didn’t really do drugs, that he was just “naturally that way”, which meant he was less of a potential liability than a lot of people in the subculture. Some of the clubs started offering him money to attract more people. Stefon came up with excuses for the times when the depression was simply too deep to cover up and he just stayed at home, luring clubgoers via social media if he could muster the energy, rarely showering, and forcing himself to eat at intervals. 

One day, a good day, Stefon got an offer to promote some clubs on a comedic news show, where he’d pretend to not understand the host’s supposed desire for him to name boring, wholesome tourist attractions. Yay TV! 

***

Stefon resolved not to go out the night before he was going to his first meeting at 30 Rock, so that he’d be refreshed and on time. He got some chores done. He texted David, now a screenwriter, about how David handled interacting with TV and movie people. He was good, he was excited, he was fine.

Then around midnight, that itchy thrumming undercurrent lashed up inside him like sentient acid reflux and he started pacing. Maybe he should go out, where things were bright and loud and he could take the edge off his energy. Maybe he could find a stranger for a men’s room quickie. (This led to a few minutes of seeing if he could toss his stash of condoms into a cup from five paces away, playing-card style.) Maybe he could find an all-night diner and eat a mountain of carbs, because suddenly that seemed like the best idea ever. Maybe…

He called Shy, who he knew was celebrating a successful acquittal. Just to get his opinion. There was loud music in the background but Shy listened to Stefon’s rambles and instead of helping him decide he said, “I’m coming over. Sit tight.”

So Stefon ate a bunch of saltines and drank a lot of water. His mouth was very dry. Shy showed up covered in glitter and apologized for tracking it in.

“Ah, don’t worry about it, my sparkly friend; the things this floor has seen,” Stefon said dismissively, then launched himself at him. 

But Shy grabbed his wrists and leaned away from the attempted kiss. “I came over because you sound like you’re high as a human kite.”

Stefon meant to gasp his hurt feelings but it came out more snarly than he wanted. “You know I’m not! That’s just how I am!”

“I know that’s how you are when you’re like this, which is not the same as how _you_ are. It might be consenting but it’s not gonna be sane, buddy. Let’s just sit down and listen to music or something. You’ll be glad tomorrow afternoon." 

“That’s bullshit, and you’re probably drunk.” Stefon yanked his hands away, not wanting to hurt Shy - he’d never hurt anyone who wasn’t actively trying to do him or his loved ones harm - but wanting to hurt something, wanting to pound at the walls until his fists…

Instead he got wrapped in a hug. “I’ve had one drink. One. And I don’t know what you’re going through, exactly, but I know panic attacks like a stupid fucking horse is loose in my brain. You’re having what looks like one, except it’s wrapped in bright colors and laughing. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m excited, I’m happy -” _I’m terrified._

“Didn’t ask that. I asked if you’re okay. Be honest with me, now. Lawyers are good at spotting lies ‘cause we lie so damn much for a living.” Shy rubbed Stefon’s back and it felt so nice. 

Something in Stefon went from bright sparks to _bleeeehhhh_ , like Jewish fireworks, and he sank into a chair and took some deep breaths. “I can’t be like this tomorrow. You’re right. I’m not okay. It’s too much.”

Shy brushed some of Stefon’s hair out of his face. “Yeah, it is. I’ll stay with you if you want, but only if you do your best to chill out. Fake it till you make it.”

Stefon covered his face with his hands. Hiding his expression, his emotions, the most dangerous thing about him. “Will you help me make midnight pancakes? That’s almost as good as sex.”

“Sure.”

They didn’t go to bed for another two hours, but Stefon might not have gone to bed at all if Shy hadn’t promised to lie next to him in borrowed pajamas and talk a few decibels louder than the buzzing in Stefon’s head.

“Your problem is that you don’t think people are going to like you for you,” Shy said, just as Stefon was finally falling asleep.

Stefon was too drowsy to say he didn’t know who that was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I would love to hear what you think.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapter briefly contains implied thoughts of self-harm.
> 
> \- I've decided to make this version of Seth already know he sometimes likes guys and fine with that, because I don't want to be juggling a mentally ill Stefon and a Seth having a sexuality crisis at the same time.

When Seth first met Stefon, he thought Stefon was a spaced-out, irresponsible mess. Stefon talked in a sort of dreamy drawl about everything other than the comedy bit he’d been invited to help put together for Saturday. His tactile fixation and faintly bloodshot eyes that would have been at home among some of Seth’s wilder predecessors on the 17th floor. He kept running his hands over the woodgrain of Seth’s desk like he thought there might be a secret Braille message somewhere. Sometimes Stefon would also fight back giggles at things he himself said. Seth couldn’t predict which of the many absurd things coming out of his mouth would set him off. 

When Seth first met Stefon, he also thought Stefon was a hopelessly endearing mess. Stefon shyly gave Seth once-overs when he thought Seth wasn’t looking and stuck the very tip of his tongue out between his teeth to nod enthusiastically when Seth suggested that one-sided flirtation be part of the loose script. There’d be some room for improv, but this guy clearly needed a bit of structure to avoid going on a tangent about, say, his efforts to organize entertainment and theme nights as well as wooing the clubgoers themselves. Though Seth kind of enjoyed the mental image of a chicken beauty pageant set to Malaysian death metal.

Stefon didn’t crack up at anything Seth said, but he smiled in a way that Seth was not oblivious to. Though he hadn’t ever discussed it with anyone but his brother - Josh always found out everything eventually - Seth wasn’t exactly all the way on the straight end of the Kinsey scale. Back in high school, he got all his freaking out over having the occasional crush on a dude out of his system, and stopped being terrified at the thought of maybe getting around to trying something. Even if he hadn’t yet.

Meanwhile, Stefon was an adorkably obvious mess, on top of all the other messes he definitely was. _"No wonder you don’t have a co-anchor anymore, she must have been tired of you getting all the creepy fans."_ But Seth was still smarting from a breakup, and worse, a breakup with a woman who’d been far too good for him. He also had professionalism to consider. So he treated Stefon’s compliments and many once-overs (was that an oxymoron?) like they were all part of either friendly banter or brainstorming. 

***

Seth knocked on the door of his own office, no matter if that seemed weird. He’d told Stefon, to ease his last minute jitters, that he could take refuge here if he wanted after their scene was done. Stefon had made a joke about it: _“Mm, I like a man who remembers aftercare...”_ but thanked him.

“Stefon? Are you in here? Do you want to come to the afterparty? You’ve been on the show twice now and people complained you weren’t there last time…”

The desk lamp was on, but the overhead light was off. Stefon was asleep, draped over the couch like someone had removed his skeleton and then tossed him onto it without looking. His arms were folded tightly against his chest, though, and his eyeliner had smeared. His mouth was open slightly. He had also finished the bottle of water Seth had left unfinished on his desk before the show.

It wasn’t that unusual to come across people asleep in this studio. Cast members of yesteryear had often treated the place like an improvised hostel when not treating it as laugh factory or drug den. During one of the traditional cast/writer all-nighters, Seth himself had found all three of The Lonely Island snoozing, tangled up in a corner like a litter of puppies after a long day. It wasn’t that unusual to find people making themselves at home in other people’s spaces and with other people’s stuff, either. Anyone who hadn’t stolen some of Lorne’s perpetual popcorn supply had dared someone else to. 

But nobody, to Seth’s knowledge, had calmly ad-libbed to him and the audience that they’d been awake for three days, gotten a laugh over it, then showed evidence that it was true. 

It was easy to forget how lanky Stefon was, he was such a coiled spring of a person. One of his feet was hanging off the edge. Both his shoes were still on. 

After a moment’s thought, Seth took Stefon’s shoes off for him, then texted Kristen (his most recently called contact) to tell her he wouldn’t be coming, and asked her to inform everyone else. He had a few things he could work on for another two hours before the buzz of the show wore off enough for him to go home and actually sleep. So he draped his suit coat over Stefon and fired up his laptop.

Two hours later, Stefon was still asleep. Seth tapped Stefon’s arm a few times before Stefon opened his eyes blearily and broke into a smile. “Seth Meyers. It wasn’t a dream.”

“You passed out in here after the show.”

“Oh.” He sat up. “Sorry, I haven’t managed to stay awake for more than three days since I was a teenager. Even on purpose. Which this wasn’t.”

“It wasn’t?” That was simultaneously comforting and horrifying.

Stefon shook his head and clutched at the fabric covering him. “Is this your jacket?”

“Yes. I was about to go home. I could give you a ride, if you want.”

“I’m fine. I’ll walk.”

“Stefon.”

“It’s not fair for you to say my name like that with that face,” Stefon mock-grumbled, and held out a hand for Seth to help him up. “Let me go the bathroom.”

In the car, Seth asked delicately, “Are you...uh...I’m not here to judge you…”

Stefon twanged his seatbelt like a giant banjo string. “Great! Don’t!”

“What did you take earlier? I’m not going to make a big deal out of it, I just want to know if you’re safe.” The amount of energy fluctuation and Stefon’s evasiveness about it made Seth uncomfortable.

“Turn left.” Stefon drank more than half of what was originally Seth’s bottle of water, which he’d refilled from the men’s room sink. “I’m safe. If you really want to know when I’m not safe, I promise to tell you.”

There seemed to be a hidden meaning there that Seth was unaware of, but he said, “I do,” anyway. 

***

“Your friend Jason Suk-dikkus said you forget to each lunch sometimes,” Stefon said, out holding a bag full of three different sandwiches and sides from a deli Seth loved but had never mentioned to Stefon. 

“It’s _Sudeikis_ ,” Seth said, knowing that his accursed dimples were showing. “Thank you. But you weren’t scheduled to join us this week. Security let you in?”

“Never underestimate the power of a charming and funny gay man carrying sandwiches to go wherever he wants,” Stefon said.

Only after Stefon left did Seth notice that one of the buns said THANK YOU in mustard. 

***

It took a few more collaborations with Stefon before Seth finally agreed to check out one of his clubs with him. One. For now. Stefon promised him a low-key one to start with.

“Hey, Stefon!” shouted one of the people lining up to get into Honk. Several more waved at him, others blew kisses or made lewd gestures in a friendly sort of way. The line stretched all around the tire fire next door. 

“How is it legal and why does that not smell completely terrible?” Seth asked, gesturing at the flaming heaps of rubber as Stefon ushered him past the crowd. 

“The first, I’m not a legal expert. The second, essential oils. My idea. It’s lavender night; isn’t it soothing?” Stefon paused to hug the enormous bouncer in a yoga pants and a top hat. Nothing else. “Hi Manuel, he’s with me. How’s the wart?”

“Got it frozen off, thanks,” Manuel said, pulling back the neon green nylon rope.

Seth was both delighted and unnerved to find out that Stefon was not lying about the _sorts_ of absurdity at his favorite night spots, regardless of whether Stefon or an assistant writer slipped in some made-up ones for Rule of Funny. Stefon insisted on introducing Seth to the manager and her conjoined twin (who spent the entire time reading a book with noise-canceling headphones on), as well as the reassuringly mundane bartender, the visiting Furby Organ player all the way from the U.K., several of the little people doing performance art, and Stefon’s favorite kitten-themed Mexican wrestler, Luchadorable. 

“And now, we dance,” Stefon said, dramatically pulling off his tissue-thin scarf and cracking it like a whip.

Seth was not a good dancer, but he drank enough to stop caring. Stefon knew a surprising number of swing moves. Later on, Seth won ten bucks betting on Luchadorable, on Stefon’s advice, when a prearranged and mutually consensual brawl broke out between him and action-pornstar Wayne “The Long” Johnson. 

A bet that Seth would have lost, if he’d placed a bet: their first kiss ended up being initiated by Seth, not Stefon. No sooner had they left Honk and set off into the night than Seth just...dove at him. And promptly discovered how enthusiastic Stefon could be with his tongue with the slightest bit of encouragement. 

“Why now?” Stefon asked when he pulled away, smiling but also rocking back and forth on his heels anxiously.

“I had a good time when I was worried I might not, like I was interested but I didn’t want to disappoint you by not liking it as much you deserve, so I guess, I guess this seems like a natural extension?” Seth squeezed Stefon’s wrist. “We could share a cab. If you want.”

“Aw.” Stefon put his other hand flat on Seth’s chest. “I would really, really, really, like to find out how much natural extension you’ve got for me. But we’re going to do this in a week.”

“I’m not drunk! She sells seashells by the seashore. She sells seashells by the seashore. See?”

“Bertha’s breathalyzer bounty better buy Bertie better breath mints. _So_ not the point. You can’t trust passing moods, Seth. I can’t. You can’t. We can’t. The American people can’t. See how you feel in a week.” Stefon did kiss him a few more times, though. 

***

“You’ve got a glow going on, who are you seeing?” Amy teased once when she and Seth managed to meet up for the first in awhile.

“Nobody, Poehlcats, I’m pregnant,” Seth parried before steering the conversation elsewhere. 

Seth wasn’t looking for a new romantic relationship right now, and Stefon made it sound like he didn’t really do relationships anyway but was a connoisseur of fucking friends on a long-term but non-exclusive basis. Once Stefon was sure of his welcome he’d started making sure Seth got as little rest as possible while still being able to function. It was a good thing Seth didn’t need to wear costumes for the show anymore, because he wouldn’t be getting all these bruises and hickeys past anyone running in and out of the changing room alongside him. 

***

 _home not safe_ the text message read, after two days of no contact from Stefon. Seth’s attempts to get follow-up all failed, so he drove to Stefon’s apartment and put all the quarters he had on him in the parking meter. He’d dropped Stefon off several times by now, and knew which number his apartment was, but hadn’t gone in before.

Thank God the door opened when Seth knocked. Stefon looked like a different person, standing there in an Adventure Time tee with a long-sleeved shirt underneath and sweatpants that had food stains on it, stubble on his face and with unstyled hair. 

“Hi,” he said tonelessly. “You don’t have to.”

“Of course I do, we’re friends. What’s going on, Stefon? You don’t look good at all.”

“I like your honesty.” 

“That’s not what I meant.”

“You can come in if you want.” Stefon’s place was a studio apartment, so Seth could see the sort of defensive bunker/blanket nest Stefon had made on his bed out of blankets, pillows, and three stuffed animals. The nightstand had water and a stack of empty cans of chocolate or vanilla Ensure. His battered laptop, also on the bed, was still playing what turned out to be some competition between people who made movie prosthetics.

“You said you weren’t safe.”

“I had to. I promised I’d tell you,” Stefon said. “You ever realize that life has no fucking point, that we’re all soap bubbles about to burst, floating on a deep lake of nothing?”

“Stefon, what do you need? Are you in withdrawal from something?”

Laughs that weren’t because of humor or joy were terrible sounds, and Seth didn’t ever want to hear Stefon laugh like that again. “I don’t do drugs, Seth Meyers.”

“Not judging.” He could literally see stray pills on the dresser. Stefon followed his gaze.

“I do a really good job pretending to be a party monster.” Stefon grabbed the two bottles off the dresser, one of which had fallen over earlier. “Look.”

Seth took them from Stefon’s shaky hands and read the labels. 

_LITHIUM CARBONATE: for mood stabilization and treatment of mania and suicidal ideation associated with Bipolar Disorder. Side effects include increased urination, thirst, and shaking hands. See back for warning about lithium toxicity._

_CLONAZEPAM: for treatment of panic disorder and acute mania. Side effects include drowsiness, poor coordination, and agitation. Alcohol may increase sedative effects._

“Oh, Stefon,” Seth said softly. “It’s your business, but you could have told me.”

Stefon put his hands over his mouth and nose and shook his head. “People like me better when they think I’m choosing to put on the crazy.”

“I think I like you more knowing what a strong person you really are,” Seth said. He put the bottles back on the dresser. He needed to act like he had a clue about how to help. “What do you need? C’mon, don’t hold back. 

Stefon sank onto his bed. “I already poured the alcohol down the drain, but I need someone else to hide the sharps, please. You can tell me where they are when I give you the all-clear.”

“The sharps?”

Stefon mimed slicing at his own forearm. Seth bit the inside of his cheek and nodded. Stefon only had a few kitchen knives and one pair of scissors as far as Seth could tell in the following nervous rummage, but he hid the cheese grater as well. 

When he was done, he approached Stefon, who was watching more Amazon Instant with damp eyes. “Uh, the unfinished poster on the dining table is really nice.”

Now Seth understood how Stefon could have twice the liveliness of other people when things were going well, because Stefon had about a quarter of a regular person’s liveliness right now. “Boooooooof asked me to design them something. I’m thinking of throwing that shit away and starting over, but I can’t think of anything else.”

Seth cautiously sat on the edge of the bed. “Maybe wait a week. See what you think then.”

“That’s what she says. My therapist.”

“Smart lady.” Seth took Stefon’s hand. Stefon twined their fingers together and yes, his hands were shaking. It was amazing how much Stefon had disguised that previously. “Have you had anything to eat?”

“I’m getting my nutrients,” Stefon said, jerking his head at the Ensure. 

Seth didn’t know much about how to cook, only how to fuss. “You can’t live on that forever.”

“Wasn’t planning on trying.”

“I could order us both something.”

“Maybe. Don’t tell anyone, by the way. Not about me.”

“I won’t. I gotta ask, though, do you really, honestly prefer letting people think you do illegal drugs?” 

“Unless they’re cops or my health insurance provider or something, usually everyone’s more comfortable with that. Is it fucked up? Yes, but that goes with the territory.”

By degrees, Stefon let Seth get into a cuddling position, and they stayed there. Seth got invested in whether contestant Tyler’s gargoyle makeup was going to be Victorian enough to satisfy the prompt the judges gave him. 

As one episode ended, Stefon asked, “Can I kiss your earlobe?”

“What?” That seemed familiar somehow. 

“It’s very important.” 

“Okay.”

Stefon gave Seth’s right earlobe a peck, then had another gulp of water. “This is helping, by the way. You drink too.”

Seth took the offered bottle. Anything he was going to catch from Stefon, he’d already caught, right? “Are you going to get better?”

“Temporarily, yes, but it’s always gonna come back.” He rested his head on Seth’s shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chicken beauty pageants and death metal are both things that exist in Malaysia, though as far as I know not at the same venue.
> 
> \- SNL's first openly gay cast member, Terry Sweeney, snagged an audition for the 1986 season partly by using gifts of sandwiches for SNL writers, crew, etc. to get past 30 Rock security. While he never became super famous, he was the first out gay man on U.S. network TV, and is still in a relationship with one of the SNL writers from the same time period. I figured Stefon would look up to him. 
> 
> \- Look Mum No Computer is the stage name of the real British man who has made a real playable organ out of old Furbies. He does other mad music science too. Search him on Youtube.
> 
> \- I fudged how medication labels are worded for ease of storytelling.
> 
> \- Stefon was watching Face Off, made by the SyFy channel.
> 
> \- The earlobe thing is a reference to [young Seth Meyer's dialogue/makeout strategy in this clip from the indie film Watch This Movie.](http://globochem.tumblr.com/post/2727786708/can-i-put-your-earlobes-in-my-mouth-its-really)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cigarette smoking occurs near the end, in case you're trying to quit and don't want the reminder. (Also, hooray, you can do it! I believe in you!)

There were a lot of things Stefon liked about Seth Meyers.

The most obvious were sexual. Seth Meyers might not have really been created by gay scientists, but there had to be some out there taking notes to make their own deceptively wholesome-looking vaguely elfin perfection. Stefon had been gleeful at the prospect of ushering a baby bi into a new side of himself, but instead of having to do any urging it turned out to be more like keeping Seth from moving too fast. After Seth hurt his back bottoming during the little vacation they took together, and choked a few times trying to deepthroat before he was ready, Stefon had to become the patient one and tell him to chill. Seth wanted him so damn much. It was beautiful. And he was adventurous and versatile when they tried a bit of BDSM here and there. Also, when he came, Seth tipped his head back and gasped out _Stefon_ in a way that made Stefon feel like a fucking god.

But there were other things, too. Stefon liked Seth's quietly intense comic book obsession, especially their shared interest in Spider-Man. He liked how Seth's laugh sometimes leapt higher into more of a helpless giggle. He liked how Seth traded hair styling tips with Stefon, because that little flip wave over his forehead took daily maintenance. He liked how much Seth appreciated Stefon's cooking, when Stefon was in the right headspace to actually use his kitchen. He liked Seth's sense of how ridiculous society's injustices were, that his rants were sincere and passionate but actually fun to listen to. 

He started liking Seth's collection of P.G. Wodehouse books when Stefon was having a Bad Moment while at Seth's place. Seth made him lie down with his head in Seth's lap and read him two short stories about some rich idiot and his smart servant dude fixing his problems. Using his Prince Charles impression for all the dialogue. Eventually Stefon stopped trembling and started laughing. Later, he borrowed _Enter Jeeves_ to read a bit of at a time on the subway. 

He liked when Seth took a closer look at jokes Stefon made on the air, as if looking for clues that Stefon was maybe hiding something deeper with humor. Like after Stefon claimed to have a dog named Bark Ruffalo, Seth took him aside during the afterparty and asked if he genuinely wanted one and recommended a shelter, even offered a ride. Stefon reminded Seth that he practically lived in a garbage can, one with no pets allowed. But said that was sweet of him. 

He liked Seth's family, that time he took Stefon to New Hampshire with him as a “holiday orphan”. He liked the nicknames they had for each other, how Seth's mom had a fanclub of her former high school French students, how his dad liked girly cocktails, and most things about Seth's absurdly hot brother who looked like a slightly more macho Seth and made Seth relaxed and playful like nobody else.

There were things Stefon disliked about Seth, too. He didn’t like when Seth lost track of time at the office and showed up later than he’d promised. He didn’t like Seth when checked his phone for messages right after sex, when by all rights he should have nothing on his mind but basic cleanup and snuggly chitchat. And if it was work-related, Seth might run out on him. If Stefon wanted to have a great orgasm, then get ignored, there were hundreds of attractive guys he could choose from. He hadn’t said anything for fear of sounding needy.

Stefon didn’t like how Seth wouldn’t touch him around other people if they weren't in an anonymous club crowd or it was part of a Weekend Update segment. Stefon was fine with not being public about the thing they had going on - it was Stefon’s idea originally. But Seth publicly casually touched, say, Andy Samberg more than he touched Stefon under the same circumstances. As if anyone seeing him put an arm around Stefon’s shoulders would immediately conclude they were getting it on, and that it would be so terrible if some rando did.

He didn’t like how Seth had started asking him if he’d taken his medication every time Stefon got a bit down or acted a bit squirrely. Compared to his baseline, that was; Stefon was aware that he was never entirely what others considered normal. Sure, it probably came from a good place , but got patronizing real fast. 

Stefon told Shy most of the list of likes and dislikes as they sat on the balcony of Shy’s apartment, watching the sun rise. Shy had asked Stefon to come over and force him to finish doing a stack of boring paperwork so the ADHD wouldn’t get the better of him again. Stefon had poked him every time his attention strayed and unchained him from desk when he was done. 

Doing his best impression of Seth Meyers, Stefon continued, “ _Maybe you should get some sleep, Stefon, I read that sleep deprivation could trigger an episode._ I haven’t said anything to him, because I haven’t had the guts. I’m too glad he’s as accepting as he is. But, like, who died and made him a mental health professional? Or David Zolesky?” 

“How is David, by the way?” Shy asked, lighting a cigarette to reward himself for all his hard work. He kept his cigarettes deep in a cupboard to help with the temptation to go back to smoking more often than once or twice a month, and kept his weed stash inside a vase of fake flowers that he could easily chuck out of the window. His Adderall prescription, on the other hand, stayed in a hotel-room-style safe under his bed where withdrew a single day’s precious dose every morning. (Also he kept a bottle of premium pure Canadian maple syrup in his sock drawer, but Stefon suspected that was to troll anyone trying to find his drugs.)

“Fine, overprotective, gets upset if I don’t text him for more than a week. The usual.” Stefon sipped from his water bottle. “But back to Seth Meyers…”

Shy took a thoughtful drag. “You know what it sounds like?”

“What?”

“It sounds like it’s mainly that you want more attention from him, and the right kind.”

There was something about that which scared Stefon, and he didn’t know why, so he asked Shy to tell him about his new girlfriend and how happy their (open but serious) relationship made him. Shy talked and talked as dawn spread across the city, and pulled up his sleeves to reveal fresh handcuff grooves like a kid showing off a smiley sticker on an A+ quiz. Then he stubbed out his cigarette in a plastic ashtray and popped an Altoid. “Do you know what I sound like?”

“An old-timey radio announcer who can’t believe any of this shit but thinks it’s kinda neat to discuss?” 

“I always sound like that. I mean what I sounded like just now, specifically.”

“Sleepy but hyped up?”

“I sounded like _you_ , man.” 

“Huh?”

“Let me try something.” Shy turned in his seat and pulled Stefon into a deep, minty kiss. Then he pulled away and patted Stefon’s cheek. “Yeah, you’d rather I wasn’t the one kissing you.”

That’s when Stefon realized.

It wasn’t that he’d never had crushes that craved more than sex. It wasn’t that he’d never wanted to be somebody’s. It was that Stefon felt too much, and had so little control over what he felt, that he hadn’t thought of his romantic desire as a fire like so many songs and poems said. Romantic love, for Stefon, was like a magnesium flare, so searingly powerful and bright that letting it exist and letting himself look at it could destroy him. Being in lust with someone, the worst that could happen was disappointment and maybe blue balls. Being in love with someone, the worst that could happen was wanting to die. For someone who sometimes wanted to die for no reason other than stupid neurotransmitters being stupid, it was a terrible idea.

In conclusion, Stefon shouldn’t have been in love with Seth Meyers. Yet it was clear that he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Seth liking P.G. Wodehouse and both details about his parents are based on interviews. 
> 
> \- Our universe's Seth and Bill Hader have written and published an officially sanctioned Spider-Man comic together.
> 
> \- I watched John Mulaney's "Ask a Grown Man" video, and he gives very sincere, wise, kind advice to a few questions about romantic problems sent in by teenage girls and doesn't make any jokes about them. He sounds like a great confidante.
> 
> \- In a video where John Mulaney interviews Simon Amstell (a comedian I love), John mentions that he started taking some kind of medication in the past few years that's helped him function and focus better mentally, but doesn't say exactly what.


	4. Chapter 4

There were a lot of things Seth liked about Stefon. 

The most obvious were sexual. Stefon’s tastes were as varied as one might imagine, but he was also very mindful of Seth’s safety, and the level of compliments got Seth blushing more than the most ridiculous of experiments ever did. All of Seth’s nervousness about finally following years of curiosity and having sex with a man evaporated so quickly that he watched a bit of straight porn just to check. He didn’t repeat the test because Stefon was wearing him out as it was and he needed to save his energy. Which was a nice complaint to have. Stefon talked a lot during sex unless he had something in his mouth, but Seth liked reducing that stream of chatter into a combination of gibberish and _please_. It made Seth feel like some sort of magician. 

But there were other things, too. Seth liked how Stefon genuinely loved introducing people to clubs, beyond his latest scheme of occasionally charging individuals or small groups to be their “debauchery guide” as his notoriety grew. Whenever he went out with Seth, Stefon made sure to introduce Seth to a few people he thought Seth would get along with, and Seth liked the majority of the hilarious and eye-opening encounters this had resulted in. He liked Stefon’s unpolished, joyous dance moves. When Seth had an opportunity to see Stefon on duty as a sort of general clubwide fairy godmother, he liked how Stefon broke up disagreements, comforted people on bad trips and led them somewhere quieter, notified staff about issues he’d observed like a dude being predator-creepy (as opposed to amusing-creepy) or a performer stuck in a costume, and kept DJs hydrated. And a million other things.

Seth liked Stefon’s hidden mundane talents - drawing, cooking, hacky sack - and how childishly shy and surprised he was whenever anyone said anything nice about them. Especially given that he simply preened and gloated if Seth complimented his bedroom skills. Seth liked how Stefon talked to other people’s dogs, as though he were conducting a verbally serious but physically affectionate job interview. He liked Stefon’s wardrobe when he wasn’t on Weekend Update, not that he disliked Stefon’s “TV costume”, as Stefon always put it. The rest was still bright, colorful, and would clash terribly on everyone else. Usually Stefon took off his many rings for sex, but one time he told Seth where he got each one and what it meant to him while putting them on again after. Seth liked that the rings all turned out to have stories, though he hoped some of them were exaggerated. 

Seth liked how considerate Stefon was, in his own way. After Stefon found out about Seth’s occasional breathing issues and that he usually carried an inhaler around just in case of dust or other particles, Stefon cleaned his own apartment from top to bottom. He tutted at the hazardousness of Seth’s place the next time he was there and cleaned that too, enlisting Seth but doing most of the work. Seth liked that Stefon didn’t just leave a monetary tip at restaurants, he also left a bit of eccentric advice on a napkin. _In a survival situation, condoms are excellent for storing rainwater! Have a nice day. :)_

He liked how strong Stefon was, that he put up with all sorts of crap from his own brain but still got a lot out life. Stefon was sometimes out of touch, but he had no malice whatsoever, always wanting others to be happy even when his own ability was temporarily out of order.

There were, in short, a lot of things about Stefon which Seth liked. 

There were a number of things about Stefon that made Seth uncomfortable, though. Seth felt guilty that so many of them were directly connected to Stefon’s bipolar disorder. He understood now why Stefon preferred to let most people think his mania was from drugs. Knowing that Stefon couldn’t prevent his wild streak from resurfacing, that he had no choice in the matter except in whether he’d continue taking medication stopping it from being worse than Seth had ever witnessed - that was in some ways more unnerving. The party monster Seth had imagined Stefon to be could, in theory, get clean if he really needed to. There was no running from this. 

There was no telling when Stefon would go from his delightfully bizarre harmless weirdness to something more reckless. Like the time he ate leftover food from other people’s plates at other tables at a restaurant and both of them were asked to leave. Or the time Stefon loudly identified an undercover cop on the dance floor, told everyone to shake his hand, and soon got arrested for allegedly groping him, though Stefon swore that it was a pat on the back. From where Seth was standing, trying not to be noticed, it looked like Stefon was telling the truth. That didn’t reduce his alarm much. Stefon’s lawyer friend made sure he got let off with a warning. Seth couldn’t really get mad at him over these incidents, because Stefon got so apologetic and annoyed with himself after he came down. 

Meanwhile, it was good that Stefon started letting Seth see his depressive slumps and try to help, but Seth’s calm when that happened was largely fake. He was always freaking out the entire time, mentally flailing when faced with this faded nearly-Stefon and waiting for the rest of his friend to come back. Anxious Stefon, Seth could handle, recognizing exaggerated versions of emotions Seth felt himself. Depression was barely an emotion on Stefon. It looked like nothingness, like trying to walk underwater. Seth wanted to fix it so much and couldn’t. This got worse when he learned about Stefon’s high school suicide attempt, regardless of it having been before Stefon got treatment. Seth had a few nightmares about being in Stefon’s brother’s position that day. But he didn’t want to tell Stefon this and seem overbearing. Or clingy. 

Was Seth an asshole for thinking all this? Especially when Stefon had confided in him? Especially when he was so fond of Stefon? He felt like he should be totally at ease with Stefon. But he wasn’t. 

All of this flashed through Seth’s mind one afternoon as he lay in Stefon’s bed. He was pleasantly fucked-out and drowsy one moment, then Stefon sat up and asked, “Seth Meyers, how would you, uh, like, feel about being, you know, more than friends?”

Oh. Seth sat up as well, leaning against the headboard. He tried to keep his voice soft and relaxed. “How long have you wanted that?”

Naked Stefon didn’t have sleeves to play with, so he fiddled with the sheets. “I noticed it about three weeks ago. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t gonna change. So?”

On the one hand, friends with benefits falling for each other wasn’t that surprising, practically a cliche. On the other hand, Stefon had always insisted that he didn’t have the energy for making things complicated, that he’d never been in love and he didn’t want to be. “Stefon…”

“Oh, shit.” Stefon buried his whole face in his hands, not just his nose and mouth. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I should have known better.”

Seth wished Stefon had picked a time when they were both clothed and Seth had all his wits about him. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s good that you’re in touch with yourself and that you’re talking to me.”

“I’m not a teenager and we’re not in the student counselor’s office,” Stefon said, hands now clutching at the sheets and an edge creeping into his voice. “Tell me.”

“I really like you, Stefon. I’ve gotten closer to you than to most other people in my life. But I’m not sure I could handle being closer.” He regretted his choice of verb immediately.

“What do you mean by ‘handle’?”

 _You can’t tell him you worry about him and are afraid of worrying more. You can’t tell him it hurts when he hurts. You can’t tell him that you can’t be what he’s looking for, that you’re a fraud, that you’ll never be what he needs. He’s going to resent you. He’s going to think you think he’s a basket case. He’s going to think you think he’s weak when you don’t know how to say that you’re the weak one. Whether you love him or not doesn’t really matter. This water is too deep._

“I think we’ll do better with a bit of distance between us, that’s all.” Seth smiled appeasingly, that TV personality smile for charming the audience.

Stefon didn’t smile. “Got it.”

“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea....”

Then Seth’s phone rang and he all but dove for it with relief. Even better, it was Lorne Michaels himself. Surely Stefon would understand that Seth couldn’t keep Lorne waiting. 

When Seth explained, Stefon nodded and curled up to get some sleep. Seth glanced back at him when he was fully dressed again and wondered if leaning down to kiss him would make things better or worse. He settled for asking, “You going to be okay? Safe?”

“Don’t flatter yourself into thinking I’d kill myself over _you _, Seth Meyers,” Stefon mumbled into a pillow.__

__Best not to reveal how genuinely relieved Seth was to hear Stefon being sassy. That was much better than limp defeat. “Are you free on Sunday?”_ _

__“I need some time to figure shit out,” Stefon said, curling tighter._ _

__“Okay. Sure. Whatever you need. Take care.” Seth refilled Stefon’s bedside water bottle for him and turned the lights off on his way out. He didn’t want to think too hard about why his chest ached and his throat had gone tight._ _

__*****_ _

__“Hello?”_ _

__“Poehlcats, hi, so between you and me, I’ve been sleeping with Stefon on the down-low and he confessed stronger feelings and I wasn’t sure how to respond and I think I didn’t do a good job and I think I hurt him but I also want to give him space and Amy, Amy, this bit is REALLY secret, okay, but Stefon has mental health issues and that’s also part of why I wasn’t sure what to say but it’s also part of why I’m so worried right now. I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t know what else I want, but I know that.”_ _

__“Oh, Seth...”_ _

__“Yeahhhhh.”_ _

__“I say this with unconditional affection: you aren’t great at this.” Amy’s voice was bright and solid over the phone, even with baby fussing about something nearby. Seth hadn’t been able to take it any longer and called her the moment he had at least ten minutes free._ _

__“I’ve known that for a while.” Seth definitely didn’t get tearful while he continued to talk to Amy. His eyes were tired, that was all, as well as the rest of him._ _

__*****_ _

__Two weeks and two days after Stefon fucked up, he still hadn’t gotten in touch with Seth Meyers. Every time he thought about it, he could feel a panic attack advance like rolling thunder in the distance, so he didn’t. He deleted the two texts he got from Seth without reading them. Just having them lurking in his phone was too much._ _

__Stefon had been wandering around passing out club-opening ads he’d designed on commission, when he realized he was a few blocks away from Seth’s usual gym. That was another thing Stefon liked about Seth, how busy he was and yet how dedicated he was to his gym. It had been hilarious when Stefon pointed out that it was possibly the gayest gym in the city and somehow Seth hadn’t noticed._ _

__It was less funny now. The idea of the slightest chance of crossing paths with Seth was terrifying, but Stefon suddenly wanted to look at the place. Not in a creepy stalker way. Maybe. So he distributed the rest of the flyers, then climbed up onto the roof of an nearby out-of-business Borders bookstore, with no evidence of the Sephora a sign claimed was coming soon. It was a shame it was in such a nice area, otherwise it’d be a great new location for Twice after the unfortunate sparkler rave incident._ _

__The climb wasn’t that difficult thanks to a convenient Dumpster and a prominent drainpipe. Nobody stopped him. You could get a lot of mileage out of acting like you were allowed to do things, especially in NYC, the capital of not giving a damn at whims of passersby. To get a good view, Stefon stood on the edge of the flat roof. He hugged himself and hummed “Starman” for comfort._ _

__Then a voice from the ground called, “Hello? Let’s talk, okay? You don’t have to do anything sudden!.”_ _

__Stefon looked down. A damp-haired silver fox with a gym bag over his shoulder was waving at him. “It’s chill, I’m not gonna jump! What idiot would jump from such a low building, anyway? A lot better chance of paralysis than death, and I would super hate being paralyzed.”_ _

__“Still, I’d like to talk to you down here, please!”_ _

__At first Stefon was going to politely but firmly tell him to go away, then he recognized the stranger. At least this would be a story to tell people. “I’d hate to disappoint my favorite real news anchor!”_ _

__“I appreciate it! Careful!” Anderson Cooper watched Stefon’s descent and helped him down the last few feet, reaching out to steady him. “Nice climbing.”_ _

__“I’m pretty limber,” Stefon said. He didn’t mean to land in Anderson’s arms with a slight _oof_ , but you don’t happen to rom-com cliches, rom-com cliches happen to you._ _

__“I can see that,” Anderson murmured, not immediately pushing him away. Though he eventually let go, and that’s when he raised his eyebrows and pointed at Stefon’s face. “You’re the one who talks about the clubs.”_ _

__“Yes!”_ _

__“You’re very funny.”_ _

__“You have your moments,” Stefon said._ _

__“Stefon, right?”_ _

__“Mmhm. I really wasn’t gonna jump, but that was nice of you.”_ _

__Anderson's eyes were extra blue in person, when he was focused on you. "Want to talk about what you were doing?”_ _

__“No, but...maybe we could talk about other stuff?” Stefon had been having trouble hanging out with anyone he’d talked to about Seth. Which meant all his friends. He was lonely. As a bonus, Anderson had maximum cheekbone game._ _

__“There's a new coffee shop where a portion of the proceeds go to helping poverty in the specific regions they get their beans from,” Anderson said, as if presenting a factual tidbit between bigger stories._ _

__Stefon was sick of not feeling like he was good enough, and he was sick of trying to be good. A bit of attention would be perfect. He stomped down on every feeling he didn't want to be having right now, smiled, and winked. “Sounds fun.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist using the real detail about Seth Meyers and Anderson Cooper going to the same gym, at least in the past, and Seth not noticing for ages that it was almost all gay men there. I recently learned about Seth's inhaler and had to use that, too.


	5. Chapter 5

“After a long winter, spring hits New York in a couple of weeks, and with it will come millions of springtime tourists…” Seth kept his delivery as upbeat as ever, but it really had been a long winter. He tried not to hug Stefon too tightly at the end of the segment. 

His parents had accepted Seth’s explanation that Stefon wasn’t joining them for Thanksgiving because his brother and his brother’s girlfriend had invited him to join them, which wasn’t a total lie. Seth also convinced his parents that he was withdrawn this year because of work stress. Josh, on the other hand, soon extracted a more accurate version of the story out of Seth. Unlike Amy, Josh didn’t offer advice per se, just perspective and distraction.

_“I think I screwed up something good, Poshie.”_

_Josh put an arm around Seth’s shoulders. He looked like a less stressed-out, slightly elongated version of Seth, which was sometimes reassuring, like a magic mirror of what could be if he wasn't so upset - and also a tiny bit more of a heartthrob, not that he was bitter towards Mr. No Wikipedia Page. “I dunno, maybe you did, Soufie. You’ve done that before. Or maybe you’re overreacting, ‘cause you do that a lot. This is your chance to stop me before I hug you and drag you to the grocery store because we somehow ran out of napkins an hour before The Dinner starts. I won’t suffer the last-minute panicking shoppers by myself. You can pick the music."_

For the whole weekend, Josh steered any conversation about Seth’s social/love life towards himself, instead, which was a great sacrifice given how cagey he usually was about that. 

Speaking of good brothers, David Zolesky had been kind enough to DM Seth on Twitter to say who Stefon was spending Thanksgiving with, and a few weeks later dropped a line to say that Stefon was spending Christmas with his son and his son’s mother’s wife’s family. New Year’s with his nightclub archipelago, of course. Other than that, Seth had heard nothing from or about Stefon until the day Stefon came in to write and rehearse another Weekend Update bit. Which hadn’t been Seth’s idea, though he didn’t protest at all.

Stefon was perfectly friendly and professional this week. Disturbingly friendly and professional. He treated Seth as if their relationship was, and had always been, exactly how they had presented it to the public. Fun. Friendly. Flirty. 

Empty.

Seth didn’t know how to close the gap. This week Stefon always managed not to be alone with him, and Seth didn’t like the idea of pulling him aside or cornering him. Stefon had his usual frenetic energy, since he didn’t have the moxie to agree to go on TV if he wasn’t at least a tad manic. But he looked healthier, too, like he’d been eating and sleeping at recommended intervals. Maybe it was best this way. Maybe it was best to smile and laugh and banter and act like there was never anything more than that.

After Stefon turned down all offers to the afterparty, saying he had somewhere to be, Seth expected Stefon to slip away moments after the applause for him specifically had died down and he’d gotten his microphone off. He was there as the credits rolled, though, when the cast turned into a big lovefest out of adrenaline and relief.

Away from direct view of the camera, and in the semi-anonymity of the crowd, Stefon wrapped his arms tightly around Seth and pressed their foreheads together for a moment. Like he was trying to share thoughts through touch alone. When Seth looked at his face, really looked, he saw that Stefon’s eyes were wet.

“Stefon, I…”

With an abrupt shake of his head, Stefon let go and slipped away. Cecily and Vanessa immediately trapped Seth in a joyous gal pal sandwich and he couldn’t follow. 

****

Stefon still had his own apartment, but he was spending less and less time there these days. The driver sent to pick him up didn’t even ask where to. 

Anderson was awake when Stefon let himself in. He approached Stefon in the foyer - this was the sort of apartment that had a distinct foyer - with chilled bottle of San Benedetto sparkling mineral water, and waited for Stefon to drink a bunch of it and place it on a table before kissing him. “I watched you on the show. You did great.”

“Thanks,” Stefon said, pulling Anderson in for another kiss, feeling him up while he was at it. “You’re soft.”

“And you’re rubbing your face on me like a cat.” If he insisted on wearing plushy velvety robey items when Stefon’s head was buzzing with noise and light, he deserved it. Besides, it was making him tighten his hands around Stefon’s forearms, just below the elbows. Yes. Yesyesyesyes. Stefon followed him. 

Sex with one-night-stands was like fast food. It had never been difficult for adult Stefon to find, and would do a decent job satisfying cravings and getting filled up (wink). It made him feel gross and greasy after too much of it, though, and felt like it was all the same eventually. 

Sex with Shy was like takeout food from a local restaurant. It was comfortable and simple and didn’t require dressing up and going anywhere. It was much fresher, had more character, and there was affection and care involved.

(Sex with Jacked Beth on prom night had been like a drunken binge at a Long John Silver’s, only to find out they were both allergic to seafood, like, a third of the way through, but LATER finding out that one of the things Beth ended up with that seemed awful at the time was a precious pearl that Stefon got to hold twice a year or so.)

Sex with Seth Meyers had been a fucking buffet in both senses of the word, and Stefon had to stop thinking about that right this second. 

With Anderson, it was like being at a fancy little cafe with only a set menu, a handful of items to mix and match. Not as many options, but every single one was a specialty, every single thing perfect in idea and execution. Sometimes Stefon wished that they didn’t _all_ involve Anderson on top and in charge, but it wasn’t like Anderson hadn’t been willing to try other things, or like it was Anderson’s fault that he didn’t like any of the other things when they tried them. Stefon eventually stopped asking. His boyfriend had a specific repertoire, and he was good at it. 

Except this time Anderson paused at the most frustrating time possible to ask, “You want _me_ , right?”

“Of course I do, don’t stop,” Stefon whined into the pillow. Which was true. The cameras hadn’t caught that dumb spontaneous purely manic moment with Seth Meyers in the crowd, and even if they had, it didn’t matter because it was true. 

“Because on the show...”

“That’s scripted! Do you want me to beg or pledge undying love or call you Daddy or something?”

“Hmm. Only if you feel like it.” 

Things got back on track after that, thankfully. Anderson held Stefon’s - very cutely - exhausted self after and listened to his anecdote about beating The Lonely Island at tiddlywinks in their dorm-like SNL office, and how they happened to be in possession of a tiddlywinks set in the first place. Jorma had won a bet against Andy about that being a real game and not just a childish euphemism of some kind. Which led to a tangent about getting the trio to agree to play “Jizz in My Pants” and “I Just Had Sex” at some trust fund kid’s private 21st birthday being held at Selfieeeeeee in three weeks, for a modest performance fee, plus drinks and getting to gawk at the Human Fanny Packs. Anderson chuckled at appropriate moments and played with Stefon’s hair.

“Speaking of making plans, Mom wants me to spend the weekend with her and bring you, if you feel ready. It’ll just be us and presumably the household staff.”

“Right, because she has those.” Stefon curled tighter and scooted slightly backwards like a little spoon possessed by a tidy ghost refilling the cutlery drawer. Anderson had a lot of practice acting like a normal person who happened to have expensive things, but his mother was a super famous old money heiress while also being his MOM, and while feeling pretty mellow right now, that did give Stefon a nervous undercurrent. 

“I can make up an excuse if you don’t want to.” So early in their relationship, Anderson hadn’t wanted to subject Stefon to the scrutiny of holidays with his extended family, regardless of whether it was the glitzy New York Vanderbilts or the low-key Mississippi Coopers. Anderson surprised Stefon with plane tickets to go see his own child for Christmas instead. By now Stefon had spoken to Anderson’s mother on the phone a few times, though. 

“I’ll go. What should I wear? No rival designer jeans, promise.”

Anderson kissed his bare shoulder. “I’m too sleepy for a deep question like that, Stefon. Did you take your dinner meds?”

Stefon cast his mind back. “Yes’m.”

“Did you have dinner with them?”

“Yes.”

“Was it the sort of dinner your therapist wouldn’t consider a symptom of disordered eating?”

“Oh, c’mon, Dr. Li is so uptight.” Random handfuls of stuff Catering had laid out backstage had to be reasonably healthy, right?

“Stefon.” 

“When I offered to call you ‘Daddy’ I didn’t mean I wanted you to start parenting me,” Stefon said, burrowing into the buttery-smooth sheets. 

“Sorry.” He sounded guiltier than Stefon wanted him to.

Stefon turned into his back and playfully ran a finger along one of Anderson’s truly legendary cheekbones. “You should be. I should tell your mama on you.”

“I don’t think it’ll have much of an effect. She’s the queen of overshare once she’s gotten comfortable. I’ll call her in the morning.” Anderson looked at the clock and raised his eyebrows. “Oooh, wow. Later in the morning.”

**** 

“Howard was the best,” Gloria Vanderbilt replied after another sip of her drink. After dinner, they’d ended up in a tasteful living room where auctioning off any one of the kick-knacks on the shelves could probably halve Stefon’s remaining college debt. Not that Stefon was planning on slipping anything into his pocket. There just happened to be a juvenile delinquent in his brain who said things like that.

“Howard Hughes, you mean?” Stefon clarified, readying his neon green gel pen. He’d come prepared with a knockoff moleskine of Socially Acceptable Talking Points that had proven largely unnecessary. They’d hit it off unexpectedly well since Stefon and Anderson’s arrival yesterday at the “cottage” that was really a mansion.

“Yes. It was so sad what happened to him eventually.” She gave a dreamy sigh. “Errol and Marlon were so very handsome, of course, but I’ll never forget that Howard was the first man to give me a real orgasm.”

“H.H...best...in...bed…” Stefon murmured as he scribbled. He didn’t make any sort of joke about OCD translating to bedroom skills, even a mild one, because she didn’t know that he was mentally ill too and had semi-earned the privilege. And the dude had needed a lot of help he didn’t get because of the double-whammy of Real Men Don’t plus Olden Days. 

“Mom, are we really having this conversation again?” Anderson groaned, clutching a coffee table book to his chest like a shield.

“After a few glasses of wine, my mom told me all about hooking up with David Bowie, and look how I turned out,” Stefon said. He wasn’t entirely sure Bowie ever found out he existed, rather than everything being dealt with by lawyers and an accountant to send the monthly checks from until the DNA test confirmed the link to when Stefon turned 18.

“Who’s that, sweetheart?” Gloria asked. A fair question from a woman born in the 1920’s. She still looked vibrant and elegant, though, which boded well for Anderson in a few decades. Anderson explained in more detail than necessary, clearly pleased to have something else to talk about. Stefon was nice and didn’t ask Gloria which of the vintage Hollywood greats was second-best in bed. He thought about Anderson decades from now. He thought about himself old, more than ten years behind Anderson but not young anymore. He felt sad in a way he didn't understand.

****

Amy and Seth met up less often than either of them would have liked, but this time they’d squeezed a platonic coffee date into their hectic schedules. She congratulated Seth on patching things up with Stefon, and listened when he ranted about how that hadn’t been a patch-up at all and he didn’t know what to do. Or what he even wanted to do.

“If you invite me onto Update next time he’s scheduled to appear, I can be your wing-woman,” she suggested. 

“The audience’ll love seeing you again,” Seth said, stroking his chin in an exaggerated way to amuse her. “I think it’ll be less ‘wing-woman’ and more ‘supplementary spine’.”

“I’ll have your back either way,” she promised. “Though this does mean you can’t have him on the show again until I’m actually free.”

“I can work with that.” He felt hopeful in a way he didn't understand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't make up the detail that Gloria Vanderbilt's lovers in her exceptionally beautiful youth included Howard Hughes, Errol Flynn, and Marlon Brando. Ever since watching A.C. agonize to Stephen Colbert about being scarred for life by his mom telling him that Howard Hughes was the first time she didn't need to fake an orgasm, I've wanted to write a scene with her and Stefon gossiping together. And I think Stefon would be at least vaguely aware of her line of designer jeans, even if he's never owned any.


	6. Chapter 6

Five people expressed misgivings at Stefon and Anderson’s engagement, with varying degrees of intensity.

 

1.

Crowd noise was threatening to drown out David's voice during the phone call, but he said, “That’s awesome, bro. I think. You’ve only been dating a few months?”

“He asked nicely,” Stefon said, shrugging despite being alone in his apartment. The place needed dusting and he didn’t like the idea of a stranger in his space, even a cleaner.

“You weren’t manic when you said yes, right?”

Stefon rolled his eyes and paused his swiffer. David didn’t need to know that no, he hadn’t been, but he had been having an insecure meltdown after meeting Anderson's half-brothers and a bunch of their family and screwing up. Mayyyyybe he’d been a little starved for approval. “Fuck you.”

“Okay, okay, sorry, jeez. I just want you to be happy. I respect Cooper and it sounds like he treats you well. I’ll be there. Are you going to do a bachelor party? I don’t think I’d survive your idea of one.” David chuckled.

“I’ve got some human parking cones on the case,” Stefon said. “You don’t have to do anything except show up in a tux as my token relative, other than my son. It’s going to be a small ceremony.”

David didn’t ask why Stefon wasn’t planning on asking any other relatives. “Promise me this is what you want.”

“I couldn’t be happier,” Stefon said loudly.

 

2.

Dr. Li said, “I’m concerned that this is more out of a desire for comfort and security than anything else.”

Stefon pouted and scrunched all his long limbs into as little space possible on her couch. “I’m trying to be a responsible adult. I thought you’d be pleased.”

 

3.

Shy read the papers silently, toying with the steel D-ring on the black vinyl collar his girlfriend had given him to wear when he wasn’t wearing a suit and tie (unless it was important to stay closeted as submissive). Otherwise he was chilling on a stool in Stefon’s kitchen in jeans and a t-shirt commemorating his favorite diner.

When he was done, he folded his hands on the counter. “Look. Cooper’s smart. He’s hot. He’s brave. He’s kind. I’m sure he’s ‘talented’ in all the right ways. But are you honestly going to marry someone who wants you to sign something implying that you’re a gold-digger he needs protection from?”

Stefon put his hands over his face for a moment to get his composure back. “It was his mom’s idea. She’s gotten married a bunch and at least one time was really bad, and people were trying to steal her fortune from her even back when she was a kid. It’s nothing personal. Gloria and me are total pals.”

Shy said gently, yet firmly, “Did you tell him that this prenup upsets you? Because either you’re afraid to tell him when things upset you - don’t lie to me, it does - or he’s putting his mother’s feelings on something that’s about your marriage over yours. I don’t like either of those things, Stefon. As your friend, there is everything wrong with this document.”

“What about as my lawyer?”

“As your lawyer?” Shy stared at Stefon for a moment, then threw up his hands. “Bearing in mind that family law isn’t my specialty, I don’t see anything wrong here. I can’t guarantee I can make it to the wedding, given some complicated cases I’m just taken on, but I’ll send a gift if I don’t. Something so ugly it’s hilarious.”

“Thanks, Shiloh.” Stefon leaned over to place a chaste kiss on his cheek.

 

4.

“I realize he’s an endearing free spirit, but you can’t possibly be serious.”

When Stefon crept out of the bedroom, he didn’t recognize the voice coming from the study. He’d crawled into the covers beside Anderson shortly before sunrise this Sunday morning and hadn’t slept long enough yet, but he really wanted some juice instead of yet more of the water waiting on the nightstand.

Politely exasperated Anderson came to the rescue. “When you asked if you could drop by to chat, I didn’t think it was to make fun of my fiancé, Andy.”

Right, right, right, that was Andy Cohen, Anderson’s reality/talk show host BFF. Stefon had met him a few times. He seemed nice. Kinda plastic and aggressively cheerful, but they were close and Stefon had thought they’d built up a rapport for Anderson’s sake. Maybe not. He stopped in his tracks to listen further without letting them hear him.

“I don’t have anything against him. But I’m begging you to reconsider.”

“Not this again.”

_Again?_

“Besides him being a likeable vessel for your midlife crisis, which hey, it happens, no judging -”

“Whoa, hey, seriously? Ouch.”

“Hear me out. Besides that, and besides the way you met, how does he match with you long-term?”

“I have no idea what you mean by ‘the way you met’,” Anderson sniped.

Andy cleared his throat and sounded like he was choosing his words carefully. “I don’t want to poke at a sore subject. But I’m worried you’ve got Carter in the back of your mind. You haven’t told me explicitly, but I’m sure as hell Stefon needs looking after. I’m guessing he doesn’t have his...everything...all together. It feels good to nurture and fix and make everything okay for him. It feels almost as good as talking him down from the roof, even you say it turned out to be a misunderstanding. I’m not blaming you at all. The whole thing was what made you go into journalism in the first place, so you could understand life and death and human nature! It makes sense, and it comes from a great place, but it’s ultimately not gonna be good for either of you.”

“I need you to go for now,” Anderson said, barely loud enough for Stefon to hear.

Stefon hurried back into bed to keep from being seen. He drank some water and grabbed his laptop for a quick search. When they’d started dating, Stefon had promised Anderson that he wouldn’t deliberately learn anything about his new boyfriend through the Internet, as part of treating him like a regular person and not a celebrity. He promised to simply ask, as if Anderson didn’t have a Wikipedia page and everything else.

(Stefon was responsible for several now-deleted edits on the Seth Meyers Wikipedia page, but that was ancient history. Stefon had absolutely definitely not checked up on that page within the past week to make sure nobody had slandered Seth Meyers recently. That was totally finger slippage.)

Stefon felt no guilt about breaking this promise under the circumstances. Especially when he quickly learned that Carter Cooper had been Anderson’s only full brother, only a little older than him, and that he’d died when Anderson was in college.

Carter had died by jumping out of a high-rise window. In at least one interview, Anderson had pointed at Carter’s death as the whole reason he’d gone into journalism. That meant it was his whole Uncle Ben moment, if he’d been Spider-man instead of Silver-Fox-man. It was one of the most devastating things that had ever happened to him, and there was no way at all that Stefon hadn’t reminded him of it. Yet Anderson hadn’t said a word about it to Stefon.

Stefon lay back down and closed his eyes, too tired to think about it for now. When Anderson tiptoed in to sit beside him and lightly placed a hand on his shoulder, he pretended to be asleep. Anderson didn’t move for a long time.

 

5.

“...That way you, your mom, and your mami can all be in the audience to see me both on Weekend Update and go to Daddy’s wedding all on the same day,” Stefon finished triumphantly, doing jazz hands at the video chat screen. SNL had given him a call only yesterday, and Anderson had agreed to be flexible when it came to scheduling. Stefon had been flexible when expressing gratitude.

Abraham “Hammie” Jackson scratched his head with squirrelly movements. That was a common stim for him. Bodybuilder and Stefon’s prom-night-gay-panic-oopsie babymama Elizabeth “Jacked Beth” Jackson was just out of frame, monitoring. Mainstreaming into regular school plus therapy had mostly been good for their boy. It also stressed him out in ways he still learning to deal with. She said the doctors were considering a separate anxiety diagnosis on top of the autism - mostly because of his selective mutism - but it was difficult to tell at his age.

“Are you marrying Seth Meyers?” Hammie asked, dark eyes wide and putting both hands over his mouth. He was wearing his starship pajamas, because that was what he always insisted on wearing when talking to Stefon “on TV”, even though it was afternoon where he and his mothers were.

“Oh, no, no, no, no big guy, Daddy just pretends to be in love with Seth Meyers,” Stefon said quickly. “I’m marrying Anderson Cooper. From the news.”

“No, no, you have to marry Seth Meyers!”

“I told you, it’s pretend. I’m a great actor.”

This back-and-forth continued until Hammie got so upset that he couldn’t speak aloud anymore, and resorted to signing. _NOT GOING. WRONG MAN._

 

(+1)

Okay, okay, he was reading all these signs from the universe loud and clear. However, Stefon couldn’t quite bring himself to call the wedding off. Part of it was his contrary streak that resented being babied and patronized and told _no_ , and it was yelling like a crowd of Human Fire Alarms. Part of it was how the words died in his mouth whenever he opened it in front of Anderson with the intent of introducing the subject. A small part of it was how much fun he was having getting a bunch of his exotic club pals together and thinking how much they’d disconcert all the vanillas, normals, Muggles, and the disappointingly non-hunchbacked bell-ringer.

Most of it was the _then what?_ Either he told Anderson he needed more time to think about it and maybe they should go back to dating and semi-cohabitating, which would only give Stefon more time to dither, or he admitted that maybe this whole thing was cozy but hollow, like an unusually comfy and luxurious cardboard box a Hobocop might call home. Then he would have to go home to his garbage can of an apartment and be a secretly lonely fuckup all over again.

In his middle school production of _Into the Woods_ (the kiddie version that’s only the first act so nothing sad happens) Stefon had played the back of the cow, but had wanted to play Cinderella. He remembered how that version of Cinderella leaves a slipper behind on purpose to see what the prince will do. To see if he wants her enough to chase her.

“Goodbye, Seth Meyers," Stefon said finally, after dropping his unscripted bombshell. He exited with as much dignity as possible, not daring to look back. _Please object._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took so long! I was going through stuff that made some of the topics in this fic hit too close to home. I hope you like the finale.
> 
> On a more somber note, RIP real Gloria Vanderbilt. She was a fascinating woman.

If it hadn’t been for Amy, Seth wouldn’t have managed it. He hadn’t been able to tell Stefon he loved him in private. He hadn't even been able to admit he'd like to be real boyfriends. This was a massive romantic gesture in front of millions of people.

But Amy touched his face and said what he needed to hear. “It’s okay, go to him. It’s never too late. Follow your heart.” If she thought so, then it had to be true.

Seth ran like he’d die if he stopped without at least catching up and having his say. At first he had no clear direction, but then he realized that Stefon (drama llama that he was) had to have been baiting Seth to a certain extent, forcing his hand when Seth had been too wishy-washy before. Which meant that it had to be somewhere Seth could conceivably run to.

He guessed correctly, but he couldn’t think of the right words. All he could do was shout Stefon’s name and hope that would be enough. Turns out it was.

They didn’t kiss when they got back to the studio and Seth signed off, despite having kissed on camera before - maybe this time that needed to be just for them. The moment they were in the privacy of Seth’s car, though, Stefon pulled at Seth’s necktie until they were as flush against each other as they could be without outright dragging Seth out of his seat. Then they kissed, again and again, twin studies in desperation and relief.

Eventually one of them had to get them out of this makeout loop, as wonderful as it was. “Stefon - um - Stefon - I need to drive - I can’t drive if you -”

“I guess if you have to bring logic into this,” Stefon said. He gave Seth one last kiss on the side of his neck before withdrawing and putting on his seatbelt.

“My place?” Seth asked, starting up the engine.

“Yes.”

They barely made it inside Seth’s apartment, flicked on the lights, and locked the door behind them before Stefon gently pressed Seth up against a wall. He whispered, “Can I top, please? Can I take you apart? Can I look after you? I need -” Stefon stopped, but his pupils were wide.

“This is Real Stefon, right?” By which Seth clumsily meant this wasn’t something mood-swing driven. He didn’t want to insult Stefon, but he also didn’t want to do anything with him that might be taking advantage of a vulnerable state.

“I’m only high on you, Seth Meyers, not from inside here.” Stefon pointed at his own head. “I really need things to be a certain way right now, but I need you to be enjoying every part of it too. If you’re not okay, tell me. At any point.”

“I didn’t give you what you needed before. I’m gonna do it now.”

Stefon smiled, and the wildness in his eyes dialed down a notch without being remotely close to fading away. “Then let’s use your bed so I don’t hurt your back again.”

Since the last time Seth brought Stefon home, Seth’s condom stash had remained untouched, but they were thankfully not expired yet. Stefon was careful with him after Seth said he was out of practice, but he firmly directed the proceedings. After having to make one of the biggest and scariest impulse decisions of Seth’s life, it was nice not having to figure out what to do for the rest of the night. To be cherished. Stefon didn’t let Seth fall asleep right away when they were done, but bundled both of them into the shower for cleanup and calmer, lazier kisses.

Clean and dry, Seth collapsed into bed again. Stefon returned a few minutes later and with a big glass of water for himself and a smaller one for Seth. They cuddled naked, face-to-face, while Seth ran his fingers through Stefon’s damp hair.

“I thought being looked after all the time would make me happy,” Stefon said quietly. Seth knew he was talking about his relationship with Anderson Cooper, but he also knew this wasn’t the time to ask about the rift between them. There had to have already been problems between those two before tonight, otherwise getting Stefon back wouldn’t have been this easy.

Seth tucked the blankets around both of them for better coverage. “Trust me, I’m a mess in my own way. Couldn’t be the one with all the answers even if I wanted to be.”

“Yeah, I know.” Stefon winked.

“I should have told you I love you. I mean, I should have told you before tonight.” The words he’d been so frightened of had slipped out easily in the heat of the moment.

“Yes, you should have,” Stefon said. “I’ll let you make up for lost time.”

“I love you, Stefon Zolesky.” It was different to say it without adrenaline running through his veins, but it wasn’t nearly as hard as he’d imagined it being.

“I love you, Seth Meyers.” Stefon pressed his lips to Seth’s temple and promptly fell asleep. Seth followed soon after.

***

They woke to the sound of Seth’s doorbell ringing. Stefon immediately burrowed deep under the covers. “Hide me!”

“It’ll be okay,” Seth said, rushing to put clothes on.

“Don’t answer, hide too!”

“I’ll see who it is first.”

The peephole revealed that their guest was David Zolesky, carrying a duffel bag and dragging a suitcase. Seth cracked the door open without undoing the chain. “Yes?”

“Is my brother here? I have some of his stuff. Especially his medication.” David held up two bottles of a kind Seth recognized. Seth realized that Stefon had followed Seth with nothing but the clothes on his body and the phone in his pocket, which was likely either off or drained. Seth hoped Stefon hadn’t skipped a dose.

“Let him in,” Stefon said, now approaching Seth dressed in his tiger-print underwear from yesterday and one of Seth’s t-shirts.

Once inside, David dropped the bag on the floor and gave Stefon a big hug. “Some people are mad, bro, but not me. You’ve got my support.”

“Your shouts of encouragement clued me in.” Stefon wiped away a few tears once David had let go of him.

“I got permission to pick up the stuff you left at, you know, his place, plus your honeymoon luggage. Take your meds first.”

“What have I done?” Stefon groaned with a mouth half-full of the banana Seth had grabbed for him so Stefon wouldn’t be swallowing pills on an empty stomach. David had taken a chair and accepted Seth’s offer for a cup of the pot of coffee Seth was brewing.

Seth paused at the French press, which was actually purchased in Oregon. (A gift from his Portland-obsessed friend Fred Armisen.) A horrifying notion occurred to him. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“Oh, no, no, no, no, nooooo. Well, maybe yes, a teeny bit? Not about running away with you, but I feel like a piece of shit now for abandoning Anderson like that. He wasn’t _bad_ or anything. He wasn’t _right_ , that’s all.” Stefon fell into a sniffly mood that Seth tried to console with toast, jam, and a mug full of herbal tea so sweet it hurt to watch Stefon drink it. Seth hadn’t been able to bring himself to throw Stefon’s teabags out, only banish them to the depths of a sparse kitchen cabinet.

When Stefon was acting more steady, David said, “He wanted all your stuff gone, but there was so much I could easily carry out at once and the vibes were not good for me staying long enough to get everything. He told me to tell you he doesn’t want to talk for a few days, but then he wants to meet and try to understand why.”

“That’s fair,” Stefon said, leaning against Seth for comfort.

Seth put a hand on his leg, a part of him feeling utterly content despite everything, even if other parts of him were concerned about consequences. “Maybe you could ask to have a neutral third party there, if you’re overwhelmed. Like your therapist.”

“Maybe. Davey-dave, is Seth in trouble for punching Anderson?” Given that Stefon had told Seth that he had only called David “Davey-dave” as a small child, Seth was concerned.

David shook his head. “After you left and the crowd settled down, some of the guests wanted him to press charges for assault, but the rest of us said he was clearly gearing up to punch Seth first so it counts as self-defense.”

“That’s good, anyway.” Stefon sighed. “I feel bad about Gloria - his mom. We were bffs.”

“I’m sorry,” Seth said.

“Don’t be.” Stefon turned and kissed him, tasting of rose hips and strawberry Smuckers.

***

Yesterday had luckily been the end of an SNL season, so Seth’s schedule was flexible enough to allow them to simply lay low for four days. They were content with delivery food plus Netfix and chill. Emphasis on the “chill”.

Then Anderson Cooper got in touch. Seth didn’t join Stefon’s eventual meeting with Cooper and a counselor specializing in couple’s issues. He accompanied Stefon there and hung out in the waiting room for an hour, answering emails on his phone. One of the clients passing through recognized him and asked for a selfie, but Seth didn’t want to have gossip about Stefon’s mental health potentially splashed all over social media.

“I’m his brother Josh, and I don’t do selfies with fans ever since people started harassing me for ‘ruining’ _That 70’s Show_ ,” Seth lied, having a little fun with it because he was bored. “Not that I have many fans, but there are a few people out there who prefer Mad TV to SNL. Do you like Mad TV? Isn’t it so much better?”

She backed away, mumbling an apology for not being familiar with Josh’s work, and sat in a corner until whoever she was seeing was ready for her. Perhaps Seth should have felt guilty, but he didn’t have the space to worry about anyone but Stefon. He sent Josh a quick text to let him know what he’d done.

 _You’re a bullshitting brat lmao and you’re lucky she doesn’t know I’m the handsome one_ Josh texted back.

 _How about you get a free pass to do the same one time. Once._ Seth replied.

 _Hooo boy you don’t know what a deal with the devil you just made_ Moments later, Josh added: _Congrats, by the way, Mr. romcom I sincerely hope it’s what you dreamed of_

Seth replied with a smiley face.

No one else was in the waiting room when Cooper emerged and stood stiffly in front of Seth. He was dressed in a very sharp suit, but his eyes were a little red. Seth got to his feet, trying to be respectful, and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for crashing your wedding. There were....more sensitive ways I could have gone about declaring my feelings for Stefon.”

“Such as absolutely any point in time before we were standing in front of everyone, about to exchange vows?” Cooper asked dryly.

“Yeah, I acknowledge that would have been more graceful.”

Cooper pursed his lips. “I’m not exactly in the best frame of mind, Mr. Meyers, but Stefon’s been very forthcoming and I’m less resentful than I was before we both laid it out on the table. I’m not going to be petty towards you.”

“I appreciate that. I’m not going to give up Stefon as long as he wants me, but, uh, I won’t rub any salt in the wound if I can help it. I’ll be very sparing with details when people ask about it.”

“I appreciate that too, and the same, regarding media.” Cooper held out a hand to shake.

Seth shook it. “I really hope you find someone and it works out.”

“Mm. Take care of him.”

“We’re going to take care of each other,” Seth corrected.

Cooper nodded and left.

Seconds later, Stefon dashed to Seth’s side. “Hiiii. I’m kinda better. I’m not totally okay, but that’s not new.”

“It’ll get better though, right?”

“Yep. That’s not new either.” As they headed towards the nearest subway station, Stefon added, “You know how I called us ‘Mr. and Mrs. Meyers’ right after we got back to 40 Rock?”

“Yes?” Seth hadn’t been sure how serious Stefon had been about that. It could have easily been simply a moment of euphoria.

Stefon hid his face in his hands for a second. Then he took one of Seth’s hands and laced their fingers together. “I wasn’t kidding. I mean, if you want.”

“Ask me again in a week,” Seth said. He felt something glowing inside his chest that made him want to say yes right away, but Stefon lived his life by certain guidelines and it was important to keep to them. Important decisions that could wait a week should wait a week. Plus if Seth said yes, he’d ask for a long engagement to make sure they could make it through all the bumps of regular couplehood, not only Stefon's fluctuations and Seth's insecurities.

“Ugh, I gUEeh-ss.” Despite the annoyed tone, Stefon grinned.

“Want to get some lunch? Maybe tacos?”

“Okay. Can we go out tonight? I know a club that’s only New York’s second-hottest, but tonight we can go anonymously and avoid nosy strangers being nosy, because they’re having a masque-rave. That’s when you wear Venetian masks while dancing to Cameroonian dubstep and waving glow-dicks…”

“Glowsticks, you mean?”

Stefon changed his voice to a sultry drawl. “No, honey, I don’t.”

Though flustered by the mental image, Seth pressed on. “Uh, what’s the club called?”

With his free hand, Stefon stuck five fingers in his mouth and made an incoherent warbling noise. “There’s also going to be a special appearance from the Phantom of the Oprah. You get a free creepy singing lesson! You get a free creepy singing lesson! EVERYBODY gets a free creepy singing lesson!”

“Hmm, enticing. What else?”

They were out on a major street now. Stefon dodged a rogue skateboarder and skipped over an open manhole. “The refreshments will include raindrop cakes, clambake surprise, and complimentary shots for everyone who can come up with an elaborate backstory to go with their masks and convey this backstory with elaborate hand gestures. Shy and his girlfriend are going as Julio and Romulan, and their backstory is a forbidden romance between a Spanish astrophysicist and an alien whose families hate each other. Their masks are going to be fan-fucking-tastic. We can rent masks at the door, don’t worry. If Amy’s free, maybe she could come with us? I want to say thank you to her and I haven’t done that in person yet.”

“I’ll ask.”

“And don’t forget the human computers!”

“I’m nervous to ask, but what’s a human computer?”

Stefon looked at him like he was an idiot. “It’s an archaic term for a human whose job is to do a lot of math, duh. What were you expecting?

Seth started laughing so hard that he nearly crashed into a churro seller. “Got it.”

“We can’t stay past two, though, because tomorrow I gotta go get another blood test to make sure my lithium levels aren’t _poisoning my very cells._ ”

“I’ll keep an eye on my watch,” Seth promised.

“Are you glad you’re alive?”

That was a sudden shift, but Seth went along with it. “Yes, I am. I hope you are too.”

Stefon hummed, pleased, when Seth put his arm around Stefon’s waist. He did the same. “Never more than right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- My college actually did a fun Masque-rave, but it was just a combination of costumes, fancy masks, basic party food and drink, glowsticks, and techno music.
> 
> \- There's an adorable photo of John Mulaney and _hIS WiFe_ dressed in the knight and angel costumes Romeo and Juliet wear during the masked ball in the movie version with Leonard diCaprio.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear what you thought.


End file.
